


I Sometimes Wish I'd Never Been Born at All

by LetMeEntertainYou



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, References to Depression, Self-Harm, depressed!John, mother hen!freddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 00:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19735120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetMeEntertainYou/pseuds/LetMeEntertainYou
Summary: Why did he do it? He didn’t know. It felt good, maybe. It made his mind go blank. It didn’t help a damn thing but it was the only thing he had control over. The health of his body. The integrity of it.While they forced him to pose for photos and cake makeup on and wear stupid clothes and preform night after night for scraps, he had this. This was his thing, his choice.It didn’t do anything, but it was John’s and that was enough.





	I Sometimes Wish I'd Never Been Born at All

**Author's Note:**

> My blog is Disabled-Queen-HC on tumblr.  
> Anon asked: I relapsed again :( can you do some self harm!john and Freddie finds his blade one day and tries to help him stop

It was a mistake.

A stupid, stupid mistake. 

Freddie wasn’t supposed to be home. Freddie was supposed to be gone until the late afternoon.

If everything had gone to plan, John wouldn’t be in this mess.

John sat on the couch, head in his hands, his thigh throbbing. _Stupid, stupid_ , he thought. Not only would his life be a mess, now Freddie would be intolerable. Just the cherry on top he needed.

He cringed as he thought of what had just happened. He was in the bathroom. It wasn’t locked. Nobody was home. He was doing what he always did when he was alone. 

His pants were tossed aside and so was his shirt. It felt humiliating and depraved, but that was just another source of pain to dull his heart. 

He was sitting on the cold toilet seat, his body erupting into goosebumps. A hand shaking with anticipating reached for the safety razor, undoing the clasp that released the blade.

And then John did what he always did.

He shivered and hissed, biting his lip as he went about this grotesque ritual. 

Why did he do it? He didn’t know. It felt good, maybe. It made his mind go blank. It didn’t help a damn thing but it was the only thing he had control over. The health of his body. The integrity of it. 

While they forced him to pose for photos and cake makeup on and wear stupid clothes and preform night after night for scraps, he had this. This was his thing, his choice. 

It didn’t do anything, but it was John’s and that was enough.

The excitement of the act sent blood rushing all over his body, making his ears roar so loudly, he didn’t even hear when Freddie got home. Or when he opened the bathroom.

“John!! No! **_No!_** ” Freddie yelled, rushing in, slapping John’s hand away from his thigh, the razor clattering to the floor. John paled, eyes growing as he leaned away from Freddie, a wave of embarrassment flooding his stomach.

He wasn’t supposed to be home. Why was he home? He wasn’t supposed to be here. _He wasn’t supposed to be here!_

“John, what in the hell are you doing?” Freddie said, clearly more frazzled then upset. He knelt in front of the bathroom cabinet, fishing for the first aid kid under it. He opened it, his eyebrows furrowed, shaking his head as he mumbled, “No, no, no, no,” over and over to himself.

John stayed still, unable to move or talk. He couldn’t defend his actions. He couldn’t defend himself from Freddie’s tirade.

Freddie used tissue to blot up all the red, going over the area with an alcohol wipe which made John whine. Freddie didn’t acknowledge him, pretending to not see the older scars all in different stages of healing. 

He slathered ointment onto John’s thigh before finding the biggest bandaid he could find, pressing it firmly over the wounds. He paused, eyes closing, taking in a deep breath. John watched him, hugging himself.

What was this leading up to? Would he be kicked out of the band? Forced into an institution? Shipped back to his mother’s house with a return address?

Freddie straightened up, standing back up. He tossed John his clothes and said quietly, “Meet me in the living room. I need a minute.” He left without another word, the noises of pots and pans rattling from the kitchen following his exit. 

John slowly dressed himself, his mind a tornado of thoughts and questions. The thought that kept popping up was, did I hurt Freddie? John looked up to Freddie. If he had hurt the older somehow…he’d never want to show his face around there again.

Shakily, he made his way to the living room, sitting down and hunching over. This was unreal. He’d done a good job of keeping this a secret for 2 years. One sloppy move and it was over. He didn’t know what exactly was over, but something was and it wouldn’t be pretty.

He looked up from his lamenting to Freddie entering the room. On a tray, two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits. Freddie swallowed hard as he set the tray down on the end table, sitting next to John in a delicate manner. He looked at his hands before looking at John. 

“Sorry for my reaction, darling. I wasn’t prepared to see or deal with that. But, I’m calm now. Okay? We can talk about this,” he said, his brown eyes soft.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” John said without really thinking. He didn’t want help. It wasn’t fun, this mental state he was in, but it worked. 

Freddie nodded, reaching over for a quick sip of tea. “That’s fair. I’ll talk then,” he said with a forced smile. “That thing you were doing…I’m sure you know it’s wrong. You’re very bright, Deacy. So, what led you to do it?”

John shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about this. He shoved a whole biscuit into his mouth.

“Fine. That’s okay. I don’t need to know all the details. I guess I’m just confused is all. Not to say what you’re doing is illogical. I know many people do it when they’re hurting very deeply. I understand that. I want to know what’s hurting you, I suppose. See if I could help,” Freddie said, tension in his tone. 

John shrugged again. He wasn’t going to make this easy. Not even on himself.

Freddie grabbed his tea cup, sipping, nose wrinkled. He was bad at making tea. 

“That’s fine too. Um..well, John. I have to let you know a few things. One being that, if you’re going to live here with Roger and I, you can’t do that. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing you’re doing that. The p-pain you’re in,” he said, eyes misting up. 

He cleared his throat continuing, “So uh, we’d have to throw all that stuff out. The stuff you use to do that. Are you okay with that?”

John nodded. He didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t afford a flat on his own anymore. 

“Okay, good, good. Um, then uh, next is, I need you to talk to someone. Roger, Brian, a therapist, someone. I get you may not want to share with me about all this. I’m a bit like a mother hen, hm? I get it, I get. But you need to open up. Maybe we could change things around, do stuff differently, anything to help…”

The thought of telling anyone about this secret made his guts twist up. He didn’t want to. This was his. This was John’s shame to carry alone. But John knew Freddie would see to it that he did.

“And finally, I want you to know, that you..are such a wonderful human, John. You’re funny and witty and smart and sweet. You’re so loving. I know you’re in agony right now. I wish I could take it from you. Someone like you doesn’t deserve this burden. You don’t deserve to hurt yourself like this. You’re…You’re light, Deacy. You’re light and you don’t deserve to be in the dark. You’re too precious for that,” Freddie said, his hand resting atop of John’s knee.

John looked away, his throat getting thick. What did Freddie know? John wasn’t any of those things. He was a blight. A stain. A splinter. He didn’t deserve anything more than the red lines he gave himself. He deserved worse. 

“I’m not,” John croaked, his eyes beginning to leak. 

How could Freddie have seen him in that state and think fondly of him? He was in his briefs, mutilating himself. He was disgusting.

“Oh, but you are, sweetheart. I may be the planet Mercury, but you’re the goddamn sun, John. You have so much good in you but you’re drowning in it. I just want to rescue you. Because you’re worth it. John, you’re worthwhile,” Freddie said, his hand going up to John’s shoulder.

“ _I’m not_ ,” John hissed between grit teeth, his hands turning to fists. He couldn’t look Freddie in the eye as more tears streamed down. 

**Disgusting. Unlovable. Ugly. Marred. Ruined. Broken.**

“John, you absolutely are. You’re so good. So so good. So good, you can’t even see it. But you are, dear, you are,” Freddie said, nearly cooing as John collapse into himself, almost like a star. 

John sobbed, curling up, letting Freddie hold him against himself.

It hurt. _It hurt so much_. Nobody knew how much he hurt. It’s like he walked around with holes in his chest, holes in his heart. It was like he swallowed coals. He ached and ached and nobody knew. 

He cried into Freddie’s chest, Freddie arms around him tight. He felt so vulnerable and empty and he felt _**loved**_ , which hurt worst of all. He felt so loved and seen and understood it made him sick. He wailed, holding onto Freddie like he might slip off the earth.

“I _need_ you, Freddie! I need you! I need you!” he yelled, pressing into Freddie so tight his skin felt raw. Freddie continued to whisper to him, wiping his tears away.

He needed an anchor, something steadfast, something whole and tangible. He’d been sinking for so long and now John could breathe and it terrified him. 

“I’m right here, John. I’m right here,” Freddie whispered, holding onto the trembling boy. He didn’t know what he’d do. But he had to do something.

♚

“Freddie?” a meek voice said. 

Freddie opened his eyes, squinting at the crack of light that invaded his otherwise pitch black room.

“Hmm?” he said blearily, propping himself up onto his elbows.

John slinked closer to Freddie’s bed, chewing on his thumb nail. “I..I don’t feel, um, good,” he said hesitantly, eyes on the clock on Freddie’s beside table. 3am. Maybe he should try and deal with it himself.

“Not feeling well? Do you feel like you’re going to…” _Relapse_ is what Freddie wanted to say. He didn’t have to. John nodded.

“Thank you for telling me, Deacy. Let me get up and-” Freddie was interrupted, John stepping closer.

“N-No. I don’t wanna talk or anything. I just, uh..c-can I sleep with you?” John said, his thumb beginning to feel sore.

Freddie smiled, scooting over for John to join him. This wasn’t the first night John had done this. He said not being alone helped the thoughts go away. Being with someone and feeling them made the itch go away. It’d been a month and it seemed to have worked. And Freddie could never say no to a sleeping Deacy in his bed.

John crawled under the covers, nestling up close to Freddie.He preffered to be the big spoon. He said it gave his hands something to do.

John nustled into Freddie’s shoulder, his hands grabbing onto the fabric of Freddie’s pajamas, like a kid clutching his blanket and immediately relaxed. With Freddie’s warmth and slow breathing, every worry faded away. 

“Goodnight, John,” Freddie said after yawning.

“Good night. Fred,” John said back, his voice soft.

“And thank you,” he said even softer, hoping maybe Freddie wouldn’t hear it.

Freddie grinned, letting his eyes flutter shut.


End file.
